She's A Waterfall
by sangga
Summary: "The difficult we do immediately; the impossible takes a little longer." Ever hear the one about the thief, the spy, and the contortionist? Neither has Hobbes - but you can't keep a good man down.


****

Title: She's A Waterfall

Author: sangga

Email: **sangga55@hotmail.com**

Summary: "The difficult we do immediately – the impossible takes a little longer." Have you heard the one about the thief, the spy, and the contortionist? – neither has Hobbes. But you can't keep a good man down.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Post-Liberty & Larceny, Pre-Alex – that's about it. My spoiler-clues are shot, 'cos we're still only mid-season 1.

Archive: Drop me a line

Feedback: Mmm. Yummy.

Author's note: I'm supposed to be finishing another fic…oh well. I've just always wanted to write fic featuring a character with Ruby's 'specialised skills'. Early apologies for liberties taken with the mechanics of quicksilver use (I get the impression the script-writers make it up as they go along anyway) and descriptions of the San Diego Museum of Art (never been there). And if you're as familiar with crap movies as me, you might recognise the bar…

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SHE'S A WATERFALL

__

"The difficult we do immediately – the impossible takes a little longer"

Armed Forces slogan

There's something about hands-free phones that just doesn't seem right. Sure, they're convenient, but Darien firmly believes that apart from the little wire running from the ear-piece and into your pocket, there's not a lot to distinguish you from any other crazy guy who's talking to himself on the subway.

Except they're not on the subway. Hobbes is in the main exhibit room, and he's in the antechamber before it, drifting with the rest of the tourists. Checking things out – but he's checking out the security, not the displays. He's being discrete. He can only hope that Bobby understands the meaning of the word.

The earpiece buzzes - itchy.

"I'm telling you again – it's impossible."

Darien sets his face amiably, and smiles at the tourists.

"Nothing's impossible. There's only levels of difficulty."

"And what level is this? Eleven? Two words, my friend – Not. Possible."

"Is that a challenge? 'Cause Bobby, you know I love a challenge…"

"Look, I'm not doubting your abilities in this area, Fawkes, I'm just saying…"

"This is within my range, Hobbes."

"_You_ say. Pride is a sin, my friend."

"And so is lack of faith." He tries some subtle wheedling. "Come on, Bobby – aren't you the least bit interested in how –"

"Not really. I say we go back and tell the fat man that we do it in transit."

"No way. Too many variables. This isn't a heist, Hobbes, it's a straight B and E."

Darien hears a sigh on the other end of the line.

"I dunno… This is outa my league."

"So we do it my way, right?"

"'Your way' wouldn't happen to involve beggin' off this caper and going to get pizzas and beer, I guess…"

Darien grins because he knows when he's won.

"Come on Bobby – it'll be fun."

"Yeah, whatever. Put a lid on it. I can feel your fingers twitching from over here."

****

oOo

The Official's office, earlier in the day. The boys are lounging, as much as it's possible to lounge in those stupid chairs. Eberts has dimmed the lights, pulled the blinds – he's now functioning as slide-show host extraordinnaire. There's only one slide, sadly, but it's a nice one. A picture of a necklace on a display stand: the green droplets of stone, strung together with yellow gold links, seem to glisten even in the photo.

The Offical's sonorous bass rumbles on the left.

"This is the Jade Waterfall."

"Wow."

Darien's impressed. He's thinking that he could fence it for, oh, a good half mill at least. Bobby just raises his eyebrows, waiting with ill-concealed boredom for the rest of the details. On cue, the 'Fish rumbles on.

"This necklace was the property of the wife of the Chinese Foreign Minister, Gerald Lau. After Mr and Mrs Lau's recent demise in a plane accident, the necklace reverted back to its original owner, the Chinese Department of Antiquities and Cultural Heritage."

"So it's old, huh?" Darien's unique gift for stating the obvious rears its head. "It looks old."

Eberts steps into the breach smoothly.

"It was made six hundred and thirty-two years ago by the official court jeweller of the early Ming dynasty."

"Nice." Bobby's always appreciative of a little history lesson. "So I'm guessing that this doesn't fall into the 'picking up a little something for the missus.' category."

"Actually it falls into the 'museum exhibit' category."

The Official casts his lackey a slightly reprimanding glance.

"Eberts, you're giving away the surprise."

Bobby just nods wearily. "Thanks, but I think we figured out the surprise already."

The Fish shrugs. "What the Chinese government are unaware of is that Mrs Lau was providing intelligence to the British Secret Service."

Darien, who's been engrossed in watching the sparkle coming off the jade, perks his head up.

"What, like'The Professionals'? What are they called again?"

"MI5." Bobby inclines his head, and makes no attempt to be subtle. "Kinda like us, but better organised – and their agents are usually paid what they're worth."

"Goes without saying," Darien commiserates.

"As I was explaining," the fat man plows on roughshod over the interruption, "most of Mrs Lau's information was obtained through tiny recorders embedded in the jewellery she wore to state functions. All of the recorders have now been collected and returned, with the exception of one."

Darien grins, and extends a showman's hand at the slide screen. "Ta da!"

"Your job is to liberate the necklace from its current position, and the rest…is none of your concern."

"So which museum has it?" Bobby asks.

Eberts provides the information with rehearsed ease.

"San Diego Museum of Art is currently hosting 'Gifts of the Emperors – from Zhu to Qianlong.'"

Darien rubs his hands together eagerly. "I love getting gifts – you know, that anticipation when you start to take the wrapping off, and then –"

He's being ignored. The Official rolls on over him.

"We need the necklace by the end of the week, no later. And no screw-ups."

Bobby's hands go out. "When was the last time we screwed up?"

"Don't answer that," Darien says smoothly, then stares at the boss. "So what's the security like?"

"Tight."

"Not what _I_ hear about the museum…"

"The Chinese brought their own security, so you'll need to exercise a little more caution than you think."

"Wait a minute." Hobbes' brain has been working with its customary speed. "Do the Chinese _know_ that the necklace is bugged?"

"We won't know that until we get the necklace."

Darien's been following the train of thought. "You think that the Lau's plane accident was no accident."

"In matters of foreign diplomacy, I always like to keep an open mind."

Hobbes' eyes narrow. "So…this could all just be a set-up, to see who's gonna bite."

"Like I said," the Fish warns, jowls jiggling with the baritone, "no screw-ups. Hopefully the Chinese won't be seeing anybody…"

****

oOo

Eberts' file room is small – he's asked for a larger office, on any number of occasions, but he always knows in advance how _that_ will turn out. But he kind of likes it anyway. It's neat, just him and the files and the computer. Well, usually.

Cramming in two more bodies strains manouverable space to bursting point. Particularly when one of the bodies is built like a barrel, and the other one's head is almost brushing the ceiling. Eberts has to cramp over the keyboard just to type.

"Here's the museum schematic."

"So that's the exhibit room." Darien looms over the screen, leaning one hand on the desk. "What's the security situation? – and I need a printout of this, by the way."

"Can do." Eberts, always happy to be of service, taps the screen as the graphic comes up. "The Chinese have installed a top-of-the-range intrusion detection system. Here – the floor is covered by a series of perimeter laser beams."

"Not infra-red?" Hobbes is feeling a little out of the loop – he's used to ensuring that people stay _out_ of a facility, not being the person to break _in_.

Eberts shakes his head. "No – these are continuous-wave semi-conductor lasers. The Chinese aren't fooling around with the risk-factor on this exhibit, it's worth millions."

Darien is frowning. He's not pleased with the news. "Lasers – man, that's hard-core. Well, I can't walk through _that_."

"Exactly. You'll get toasted."

"Right," Darien grimaces. He looks at Eberts again. "What is it, random lattice beams?"

Eberts shakes his head. "Not so lucky. It's multiple arrays of sensors that link up to form a grid at floor level, and then again at half a metre, and so on up to two metres."

"A synchronised array," Darien nods, cocking one eyebrow. "It's not original, but it's thorough."

"That's the Chinese for you," Bobby slips in. "So can we disarm the sensors?"

Eberts is reading data off the screen and doing a rough translation. "Each laser column is contained in an anodized alloy housing, with a magnetic field tamper, non-colour coded wiring – and they've got capacitance sensors on each one."

"I'll take that as a negative," Hobbes says drily.

Darien explains. "He means that if you fool around with the sensors at ground level, you'll set off a magnetic switch and trip the alarm, so definitely no. What's the reaction if you _do_ trip the alarm?"

"Automatic door closure seals the room, response time from security in the exhibit room itself – nominal. They brought their own military guards on site."

"So, no sleepy museum nightwatchmen. Hm. Tricky."

"Tricky?" Hobbes looks disbelieving. "More like impossible."

Darien grins over at him. "No such thing as impossible, my friend – just a system that no-one's figured out how to crack yet."

Hobbes eyes him off. "You're really getting into this, aren't you?"

Darien shrugs. "Hey, you never forget your first love. So, Albert, come on – there's gotta be a break here somewhere. Where's the control panel for the sensor array?"

"Here –" Eberts taps the screen again, oddly pleased that someone remembered his first name, "- the previous room. Here's the schematic. There's a field interface junction box set into the wall about…twenty feet above the floor."

"I need to get a closer look at that…" Darien muses. "Emergency switch?"

"One near the door – and every guard has access to a latching switch on a remote."

"Sounds like a set-up I saw in a military facility once," Hobbes says, perusing the diagrams. "But this sounds more complicated."

Darien nods in agreement, although he's never seen the inside of anything more military than a prison. And his brother's old lab. "Basically anything the sensors pick up, or if the guards push their buttons, is relayed to the control panel – here – which then goes to a monitoring station – a central computer, which is probably in the museum's main guard room, right?"

"That's correct," Eberts confirms.

"So, you can trip the alarm by breaking the laser beams – ouch - or by hitting an emergency switch, or by the guards pressing their buttons, and all that is monitored by central control. And there's video feeds in the exhibit room, too, am I right?"

Eberts nods. "Closed-circuit cameras on all four corners."

"So our best chance is the control panel. You said twenty feet above the floor?"

"Yes." Eberts winces. "But there's a complication."

"To add to the growing list," Hobbes deadpans.

"It's set into a duct in the wall – and there's a non-latching emergency throw set four feet behind it. You have to hold the throw to make any adjustments to the panel."

"In English, please?"

"He means that there's a physical 'firewall' – if you touch the panel and you don't have a finger on the emergency throw, you'll trip the alarm." Darien's brow is creasing up with this information, which makes Hobbes worry.

"This just gets better and better… Tell me, how in hell do they fix this thing if it breaks down?"

"It's designed to be a two man job – one person holds the throw, probably by going through the duct behind the panel, and the other guy fiddles with the panel. It's pretty clever, y'know. The throw is just out of arm's reach…"

"Well, can we access the duct?"

Eberts looks mournfully at the screen. "I don't think so. It's got it's own set of security. Either way, you can't hold the throw, change the control panel, _and_ get the necklace at the same time – not unless you've grown an extra set of arms and I haven't noticed."

Darien pats him on the back for the joke. The guy is always full of little surprises. 

"Look, can you get me print-ups of all these schematics? Give 'em to Hobbesy – I gotta keep an appointment." He looks at his partner's gloomy face. "Hey – lighten up. There's a way in, we just have to find it."

"Before the end of the week," Hobbes returns.

"Easy." Darien's hoping that his enthusiasm translates as confidence. "I'm going downstairs for a minute – then we should check out the museum, okay?"

Hobbes nods. He's not convinced, but he's pretty sure that if there's a way in, then his partner will be the one to find it.

"I'll be round the front. Just look for the gushing exhaust pipe."

Darien frowns. "Golda's belching smoke again? Didn't you just get her serviced?"

"Don't tell me – tell him." Hobbes jerks a finger towards Eberts, who shrugs helplessly.

Darien exits quickly, before Hobbes starts arguing with the accountant. He's heard this rant before.

****

oOo

Claire is engrossed in a read-out when the door slides open. Darien watches her chew the plastic cap of her pen for a second, bemused – if her hair was in plaits either side of her face, he could almost see her as the serious, inquisitive first-grader she must once have been. He wonders if she'd wear her hair in plaits, just one time, if he asked nicely.

Now she's beckoning with the pen, head down.

"Thanks, could you just put it over –"

"Uh – Keep?"

She looks up abruptly.

"Oh, Darien. Sorry – I thought you were Albert." She looks sheepish, then waves him over. "Come on in, have a seat."

He's already rolling up a sleeve. When she gets back with the syringe, she's frowning. He mirrors.

"That's not a happy face I'm seeing."

She gives him the shot quickly, then presses the gauze in place, and instructs his fingers to do the same. Then frowns again.

"No, I'm afraid it's not. Darien, I'm sorry, it's not going to work. I've been over it for days now, but the problem is your tolerance levels."

He sighs. He was kind of half expecting it anyway, but it's still a disappointment. She's been trying to develop a counteragent implant that would slow-release as needed – by the time the monitor hit two segments green, he'd get an automatic top-up. Well, it was a nice idea, in theory…

"A 'spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak' kind of thing, huh?"

"Kind of. Maybe the implant just needs a bit of fine-tuning, or something else – but that could take a while."

"Oh well. Can't have everything I guess."

Still, the prospect of being QSM-free had been mighty inviting. Claire tries to look encouraging.

"Look, it's not all bad. It's a great idea, and we've made a start. And what I've developed so far could have wonderful implications for something like epilepsy, or diabetes, or even the contraceptive pill…"

"I'll be sure to tell that to my next girlfriend."

"Very funny." Next girlfriend – ha ha. It's an oddly disturbing thought, so Claire keeps talking. "Anyway, you're a bit of an unusual case – the gland can detect the extra counteragent in your system, so –"

"I get the picture. Hey, don't worry. We'll get there."

"We will." It takes little effort for her to sound upbeat – his good humour is catching. Claire's instantly curious. "So, you're very chipper. What's going on, were you and Bobby given the week off?"

"The complete opposite. Big case – can't tell."

"Naturally."

"But I _can_ tell you that it's right up my alley – my old alley, if you know what I mean."

Claire's eyes narrow. It's not exactly a huge leap of understanding. "You're stealing something."

Darien grins and unfolds, heading for the door. "Can't tell. Maybe later. I'll catch you soon, okay?"

"Sure."

He lopes off, in that way he has, and Claire watches him go with an inquisitive gleam in her eyes.

****

oOo

It's late. Bobby is in his favourite t-shirt – the one with the sleeves ripped off – and neat sweatpants. Settled in on the couch, watching the tube in the surprisingly tidy living-room. His personal exterior may be rumpled, in the day-to-day, but the house has a smooth bachelor orderliness – the combined effects of military training and years of living on a tight budget.

He's just about thinking of packing it in for the night when the phone rings.

"Hey, it's me."

"You still up?" Bobby rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me – I'm psychic. You've been going over the schematics, haven't you?"

"Man, you _are_ psychic."

"No – I just know you. You've really got a bug in your brain for this case…you thinking about reverting to your earlier tricks or something, partner?"

There's an edge of concern – not like it hasn't happened before. But Darien snorts reassuringly on the other end.

"Only if the government pays me. Hey, look, I got a question."

"Shoot."

"What's our chances of getting approval for a third team member for this job?"

"Nil to zero. How come?"

"That's not good, Bobby. We can't be in four places at once."

"Four places? How do you figure –"

"The skylight in the antechamber, the control panel, the control throw, and snatching the piece – it's not gonna work unless we get another person."

Hobbes sighs. "You already got someone in mind, huh?"

"Yup."

"Still ain't gonna work. The Fish'll never approve clearance for someone who's probably in your old line of work – and I'm guessing that your third man is still in your old line of work."

"Far as I know."

"Hm." Hobbes thinks. "Would they have to know about you going see-through?"

"Yup again."

He's shaking his head. "Then it'll never happen. I don't think Borden would even tell his own mother about that."

"Then we can't do the job."

"You serious?"

"As it's possible to be. Look, we need this person to make it work. And what the boss doesn't know…"

"…could come back and bite us on the ass," Hobbes finishes sarcastically.

Darien's voice goes suddenly grave. "Bobby, it's this or no necklace."

Hobbes chews his lip.

"Hey - you there?"

"I'm thinking. So…how would we pay this guy for services rendered anyway?"

"I've got a way – and a way to guarantee silence on the invisibility thing too. Honest."

Bobby's not so sure. "If you say so, Fawkes, I believe you. Almost. So, what is it?"

Darien's tone lightens, as he veers the topic away. "Tomorrow. Meet me outside the museum at seven."

"Ah, man, that's early…"

"For both of us. And you know I love my beauty sleep. Just tomorrow, at seven, okay?"

"Alright – but you owe me."

"Sure. I'll buy donuts on the way home."

****

oOo

At quarter after seven Bobby's still wiping the sleep out of his eyes, leaning on the hood of the van, sipping takeway java. A hand materializes to tap on his shoulder, then Darien's grinning face resolves as Bobby gags on his coffee.

"Jesus – don't do that."

"Sorry." But Darien's too buzzed to be contrite. "Hey – I got it."

"Got what? You go in without me?"

"I've been here for two hours already. Relax, sleepyhead – this is gold, solid gold."

"Tell me."

Darien plonks himself back against Golda's hood, then stands upright and leans more carefully when he hears the creaking groans.

"Man, this car… Okay, listen. The guards change over every five hours, and the last change is at seven – the museum opens at eight."

Hobbes frowns. "So, how much of a window with the change?"

"A minute and a half, tops. But it doesn't matter, 'cos I got the alarm code for the panel."

Darien is beaming with his own cleverness. Hobbes rasies an eyebrow, appreciative.

"Very smooth. You went in transparent, huh?"

Darien nods. "Stood behind Guard X while he punched in the numbers on his remote. And get this - the whole system in the exhibit room goes down while they switch guys."

"And you wanna get a remote?"

Bobby's thinking over the variables of that already – not great. But Darien's shaking his head.

"Nah – too risky. They'd close up shop for sure."

"So…this helps us how?"

"Well, if you hold down the emergency throw and punch in the numbers direct to the control panel, you get the same effect. No nasty lasers. Nice, huh?"

Hobbes winces at the bizarre logic. "Nice, but fatally flawed – you can't hold down the throw and punch the numbers at the same time, remember? Unless you're Elastic Man _and_ Invisible Man."

"That's where our third party comes in."

Bobby's been trying to think his way around this idea, in spite of Darien's insistence and enthusiasm. "I dunno, Fawkes – I'm still chewing that one over. I mean, if this friend of yours finds out that you can go see-through, things could get messy."

"I've got it covered, Hobbes."

God, he just sounds so damn sincere… Bobby screws up his eyes.

"Tell me more, and we'll see."

"Later." Darien stands abruptly, ushering his partner towards the driver's side. "First, there's a Dunkin' Donuts around the block. My shout. Then I wanna get back here in time for the open-up, see what the crowd situation is like."

Hobbes squints at Darien suspiciously as he opens the door.

"You got this whole little plan just steam-rollin' along in your head, don't ya… So you thinking of letting me in on it at some point?"

Darien grins. "It's a good plan, Bobby. Trust me. But first – appetizers."

****

oOo

They're at Darien's apartment for the lunchtime lowdown, where there's a pot of coffee and greater access to food that isn't just congealed sugar. The schematics are spread out over the table and Darien's hunkered down – he's even been making notes.

"Okay. So you've got the skylight here. There's a roof guard, but he won't get to the rear of the building until 6.32, then he goes back to the front for the change-over."

"How do we got onto the roof?" Hobbes is chewing on a sandwich, and perusing the floor plans.

"That's my job – a little rappel, then up we go. You don't have a problem with heights, do ya?"

"S'long as I'm not standing on a window ledge."

"Good." Darien nods. "So – skylight here, and no alarm on that. _That's_ their mistake. Sixty percent of break-ins go in through the skylight, did you know that?"

"Interesting."

Hobbes is watching Darien's eyes move – quick and excited. The kid's got that hungry gleam, but as long as it's all for the greater good Hobbes doesn't see a problem.

"Yup. So, by 6.40 we're on the roof." Darien's listing off the details, tapping his pencil on the schematics in punctuation. "Then you lower me and my friend down into the antechamber. My friend takes the control panel, I take the floor. I go invisible at fifteen feet, to avoid the cameras, and wait here, by the door to the exhibit room. My friend does the number on the control panel, the lasers go down, I go in – piece of cake."

"How does your 'friend' do the control panel _and_ the throw? I thought you said it was a two-man job?"

Darien shrugs. "My friend has…specialized skills. She can do it, believe me."

Hobbes cocks an eyebrow. "Oh, so this is a 'she'-friend."

Darien is nonchalant. "Yeah. Look – the first part is easy. You send us down, she does the panel, I take up a position near the display, you reel her back up and get off the roof. All before seven a.m. Sunrise is at 6.47, so you should still have a little dark for cover."

"So how do _you_ get out?"

Darien grins – this is the piece-de-resistance. "Like this. At seven, the guard changes over, the final room check is at 7.45. The lasers come down for the day, extra guards get posted for the tourists, and the IR trip over the display gets hand-activated, then the doors open for the public at eight."

"Like I said, when do you get out?"

Darien winks at him. "I take the piece and walk out with the crowd. Easy."

Hobbes is frowning. "Questions."

"Go for it."

"Why not sneak in when the guards change at seven? Then we don't need the third party."

"Thought about it, but nah. I still need your help to get in, and there's too much activity on the roof at seven – a full sweep, bad for you."

"Okay. Number two. Why don't you take the piece at seven, or even 7.45, or any old time, and hustle out of there? Why the wait?"

Darien taps the picture he's got of the Jade Waterfall – the green stones seem to tremble under his pencil. "Because I'm not replacing the piece with a fake necklace. If we had more time I'd get a copy made up and do a straight switch - but we don't, so I can't. And as soon as they notice the necklace is gone, all hell will break loose, I guarantee. Better to do it just as the tourists arrive, while the guards have their minds elsewhere. And when you're off the roof."

"Ookay." This is all starting to make sense to Bobby now. It really is a good plan – complex, but ordered. He can see how Darien made such a good thief. Except there's a hitch. "Last question, Fawkes, and the most important fact I can think of that screws this up: you can't stay invisible more than forty minutes without going bananas. So explain to me how you think you can stay invisible for, what, an hour and fifteen minutes?"

"An hour and a half. I won't do the snatch-and-walk before 8.15."

Hobbes blinks. "That's still forty minutes too long."

Darien smiles broadly, leaning back in his chair. "Uh-uh. That's the surprise. Me and the Keeper have been working on a counteragent implant that will stop me losing my cool – it's not good in the long term, for medical reasons that only she could explain properly, with all that jargon she does so well, but it _does_ give me a longer quicksilver time. I don't think she'd mind giving it a whirl, in the short term. Under these special circumstances."

He's obviously self-congratulatory, which makes Hobbes feel like pinching his ear, but his partner has to concede that it sounds good. In fact, given the time-frame they're working with, it sounds like the best thing they could hope for.

"Huh. Serendipity. So, you just hang around the display for an hour and a half, then waltz out with the goodies."

"That's the idea."

Hobbes sits back, thinking it over. Wow. He's about to make the leap from upholder of the law to part-time professional museum-robber – but, y'know, the greater good and all that… He licks the breadcrumbs off his fingers as another thought occurs.

"So. It's all nice. And this friend of yours can definitely do the panel?"

"She can. No problems."

"And you can keep her mouth shut about all of this? How?"

Darien nods. "Yeah. I just gotta talk to the Keep about it first."

Hobbes looks contemplative. "And this 'she' got a name?"

"'She' has." Darien grins, and his eyes go just a little soft. "Ruby. Her name's Ruby."

Hobbes watches the nostalgia flit across Darien's face, then vanish. He worries.

****

oOo

Claire is standing in the middle of her living room, a cup of tea cradled in both hands, staring at Darien in disbelief.

"Have you gone completely mad? Or did I just not hear you correctly?"

"You heard me right." Darien's sitting on the edge of the couch, looking up a little imploringly.

Claire sets her cup down and folds her arms.

"So, let me get this straight. First, you want me to give you a counteragent implant to help you pull off a _jewel robbery_ –"

"Hey – that's the case! If you don't believe me ask the fat man!"

She plows on. "And _then_, you want me to give an insulin implant to a non-approved civilian - a professional thief, no less - in exchange for their silence as an accomplice."

"Ruby's diabetic," Darien explains fast. "This would be worth a lot more to her than money. And Hobbes is in on it, honest. Call him up and ask him, he'll tell you –"

"Darien, putting aside the fact that I could lose my job for even _thinking_ about colluding with you on the civilian, all of this is still just experimental. You _do_ understand the meaning of 'experimental', don't you? As in untried, untested…"

Darien stands, searching for firmer ground. "Claire, you said yourself that the implant would work for diabetes. And you can take the doo-whacky out of me as soon as I've done the job. I mean it – strap me down and pull it right out."

"But your tolerance levels –"

"- aren't gonna be that much affected by a one-shot. And that's all we need. Just an extra forty minutes."

She's rubbing her temples now, and Darien thinks he might just have the upper hand.

"Come on, Claire." He softens his voice coaxingly. "It's a good plan. It'll work – but we need you to make it work."

"God…"

Why do these things always come to try her? Claire sinks onto the couch and reaches for her tea, wishing it were something stronger. Darien sits beside her companiably.

"Relax, Keep. It's for a good cause – Hobbes and me get to hold onto our jobs, and Ruby'll be forever grateful."

"And in your debt." Claire eyes him – he can be quite manipulative when it suits him.

"That's the idea." Darien nods seriously.

Claire thinks for a while, then makes a decision. She hopes it won't come at too high a price.

"Alright. I'll do it."

"Keep, you're the greatest!"

Claire is still frowning.

"Yes, yes. So when are you bringing this 'Ruby' into my office?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, late – gives her time to mull it over, and hopefully the upstairs will have emptied out."

Claire pouts. Performing two clandestine and delicate surgical procedures after-hours is not her idea of a fun evening.

"Darien – there's one more thing."

"Anything." He's feeling magnanimous – he loves it when she pouts.

"I have a condition. I _have_ to be on-site when you come out of the museum. You've never used quicksilver for that length of time before, and there's no telling what effects –"

"Okay, okay." Darien spreads his hands in concession. "You're there. You can stay in the van while we do the job, then meet me inside."

"Good." That's settled, at least.

"Gotta warn you though, Keep – it's an early one." He grins playfully. "Hope you're ready for a five a.m. wake-up."

Inwardly, Claire groans. Outwardly, she takes another fortifying sip of Earl Grey.

"I'll be ready."

****

oOo

It's 10.30p.m., and they're in Darien's car. Bobby is twitching a little in his grey turtleneck, wondering what kind of bar this Ruby-chick runs, considering that it's in the industrial part of town. When they pull up just shy of a warehouse, he's wondering even more. Then he sees the neon sign above the steps going to the basement, and the steady trickle of patrons. Oh well, the clientele don't look _that_ seedy – scrubby, maybe, but not seedy.

"Tell me about this woman again? A barkeep, right?"

"Right." Darien's tugging on the ends of his red button-down, smoothing his jacket. "But the place looks a little busier than it did when her dad ran the joint."

He looks up at the sign – 'Woo-Hoo's'. Huh. Used to be just plain 'Woo's'. Times change.

They head on in. It's busy. Very busy. And loud. The patrons are mixed – trendy suits and diamond studs stand next to jeans and overalls. Lots of regulars, by the look of things. And couples, so it's not a surly drinking-hole, or a working girls bar. In fact, the atmosphere is pretty friendly – welcoming, even.

The patrons are being revved up by the smooth moves of two extremely attractive bargirls, a blonde and a redhead, shakin' their booty and slinging the bottles as they pour, keeping time with the loud house rock. Darien grins – he'll have to come here more often.

Hobbes gives his partner a nudge. "You see her?"

"Not yet. Come on."

Squeezing between bodies, they make it to the bar, and Darien leans over to catch another bargirl's attention.

"Hey. Is Ruby working tonight?"

The girl favours him with an approving slide of the eyes, and a wry smile. "Ruby? She's working every night. I'll send her over."

Then she's gone, and Darien shrugs at Hobbes. So far so good.

Hobbes is scanning the bar when he sees a slim, short-haired Asian woman heading their way, dodging bottles and slapping hands with the clients. She could be thirty, or even forty – hard to tell – but she's a knockout. Chiselled cheekbones, big eyes, long legs poured into black moleskins and a toned expanse of abdomen flashing below a cropped leather bustier that whittles around the most amazing pair of –

"Hobbes." Darien elbows his partner discretely. "Heads up."

The woman sashays up to them, her eyes fixed on another patron as she returns a wisecrack; her voice still holds the same bantering tone as she starts her line.

"Gentlemen, what can I –" Her eyes finally reach their faces, and she stops short. "_Darien?_"

She's gaping, he's grinning. Happy reunions all round.

"Hey Ruby."

"Foxy? Oh my _god_…"

Her astonishment breaks like a wave, then she's laughing, and reaching across the bar to throw her arms around Darien's neck and draw him in for an amorous kiss. He extricates himself with an embarrassed grin. Hobbes just raises an eyebrow.

"Oh my god, Darien – it's really you!"

"Yeah, Ruby, it's me."

She's shaking her head. "It's been a while."

"Yeah." Darien has the good grace to look faintly sheepish. "Five years?"

"And then some." Ruby puts a hand on her hip and peruses him with a smile. "Darien Fawkes. Well, you sure haven't changed."

He shrugs good-naturedly. "A bit older and wiser – you know how it goes. But you – Ruby, you still working this dive?"

"Hey – I _own_ this dive now."

"Nice. What happened, you buy out the old man?"

Her face saddens for a second. "Papa died, Darien. In '98." She extends a hand to quell his murmured apologies. "No, no – really. It's okay. But, hey – what happened? You kind of dropped off the radar there for a while…"

"Ah, you know – occupied." Darien shrus it off quickly, happy to let the implications explain themselves. Hobbes' gentle nudge helps veer the conversation. "Oh, sorry. Ruby, this is my good friend, Bobby.'

A nod. "Nice to meet you."

It's a guarded welcome, which Hobbes understands. He shifts a little under the woman's searching eyes. Plus, his sirens always go off when he meets a woman with such instant sex appeal – he looks into her face and amends his earlier assessment. Closer to forty.

Darien is bridging the gap smoothly. "Ruby, it's okay, he's cool. Ah, look… is there someplace we can talk?'

The key words – the unstated obvious. He looks around the rowdy bar for a second, until Ruby nods her chin towards the back with an understanding smile.

"Sure. See that stand-up over there? Just give me a minute, okay?"

With a parting grin, she's slipping back behind the bar to sort out a couple of unruly patrons, keeping the beer flowing and the atmosphere pleasant. The boys struggle their way back to a bench at the rear.

Hobbes is giving Darien an amused look.

"'Foxy'?"

"Ah, it's a long story…" His partner colours a little. "well, not that long, I guess. Ruby and I worked a few jobs together a while back. She's a helluva thief – taught me a lot about specialty jobs…" His eyes follow the Asian woman admiringly as she works. "…and a few other things."

"I bet." Hobbes' voice is dry – and somewhat perplexed. "What is it with you and older women anyway?"

"What can I say?" The familiar grin, then Darien's voice softens as his gaze returns to the bar. "Ruby's quite a lady."

Hobbes can only shrug and nod. It certainly looks that way – and you gotta give credit where it's due. He follows Ruby's progress behind the counter. Classy. She's friendly with the patrons, sultry but not too sleazy – a smile here, a wink there…and above all that, she keeps a maternal eye on the girls, and an observant watch over the booze and the till. Hobbes can't help but wonder, if business is so good, why Ruby's still in the break-in game. Old habits, maybe?

But speculation has to take a back seat, because here comes the lady herself. She squeezes in beside them, and Bobby gets a little goosebumpy. Straightens his shoulders. Reminds himself to put a lid on it.

"Hey."

"Hey, Rube."

"So…" She eyes Darien inquiringly. "What's up?"

He's nonchalant. "Well, it's been a while – I wanted to catch up."

"Right." Dry. "And what else."

"There's a job, Ruby."

"Really? And what kind of job would that be? I've already got a job."

Her accent, Hobbes notices for the first time, gives the vowels a clipped inflection. Cantonese, he figures – California by way of Kowloon. He gives her a courteous nod.

"This is a specialized job."

Her eyebrows arch his way, a sudden splash of cool. 'And what would a cop know about such things?"

"Hey…"

But Darien's playing social road-smoother again. "He's not a cop, Ruby."

"That's not what his I.D. says." She slides a dark oblong onto the table. "Cop, government, mafia – same thing."

Hobbes snatches up his wallet with surprise. Goddamn. His old trick, and he didn't even notice her hand in his pocket.

"Look, Ruby," Darien is backpedalling quickly. "-it's complicated, but it's okay. Honest. It's a government hire-out – clean, on the level, and no strings."

"Well, that'd be a first."

She's unconvinced. He's forced to resort to giving her a dose of the puppy-dog browns.

"It's straight-up, Ruby – you're just gonna have to trust me on that."

She considers. She hasn't seen him in a long time, but still…

"Let's say I do. Hypothetically. Let's say I'm…curious."

Darien grins. "Atta girl -"

She holds up a hand. "Just _curious_, Darien." But her eyes are twinkling, even if her voice is casual. "What is it?"

"A museum." Darien's focussed now, all professional intensity. "Simple retrieval - early morning, wire entry. We need an open trip. I can do the piece, I just need someone to clear the way."

"Keep talking." She's blank-faced, not giving anything away. Just curious, remember.

"Inset panel, with a four foot set-back throw. Maybe twenty feet up."

She gives him a long-suffering look. "Honey, you know I'm not an aerialist."

"Yeah, but I am." He's grinning. "In and out through the roof – it'll be all over in twenty minutes, you'll never feel a thing."

She cocks an eyebrow. "That's not the usual line most guys try when they want to get me on board."

He smiles broadly. "So you're on board?"

"Let me think about it."

"We need you on this one, Ruby. You're the only person I know who could do it."

She pushes away from the table, looking demur.

"Like I said, I'll think about it. There's stuff I have to do, so why don't you guys hang around for a while. Have a drink – on me."

"Sure."

She walks. Hobbes turns to Darien with a quizzical expression – he was happy to take a back-seat through the negotiations, but now he's interested in an outcome

.

"You think she's in?"

His partner shrugs. "Can't tell. I mean, I'm asking her to trust me, and she hasn't seen me in years…" He watches as Ruby slides back to work. "But maybe."

"I still don't get it… How's this woman gonna do the throw _and_ the panel on her own?"

"Like I told you – Ruby has specialized skills. Believe me, she can do it."

They squash their way back to the bar, and install themselves in a space near the side. Then it's just beers and hypotheses for a while. Darien's lapping up the atmosphere in the bar, and Hobbes is trying hard not to watch the Chinese woman too obviously. He's just about persuaded himself that she can't be as attractive as he thought, when she moves back toward them.

"Okay. You've half-convinced me." Ruby's face is flushed from her exertions behind the counter, eyes bright. She smiles radiantly at them both. "I like a challenge."

__

Huh. Where have I heard that before… Still reeling a little from the smile, Hobbes raises an eyebrow towards her.

"Well, I'm glad you think so. I was just saying to Darien here that, y'know, it just seemed a little tricky to me." He shrugs apologetically, not wanting to seem too presumptuous.

Ruby's eyes widen. She grins at Darien. "He doesn't think I can do it, huh?"

Darien raises his beer – it's her show now. His lips quirk up in anticipation.

Ruby turns back to face Hobbes. "Then you need another drink, friend." She calls out to the bargirl with a grin. "Hey – tequila here!"

There's a rush of excitement along the bar with the call-up. Darien is smiling knowingly, but he doesn't want to spoil the surprise. Hobbes is confused.

"What? What'd I say?"

Ruby is setting up the shot glass and the bottle in front of him as the patrons and the girls begin drumming the counter.

"You like tequila, honey?"

Her tone is provocative – Bobby's getting worried.

"As much as the next Mexican."

She leans forward and pours him a measure, holds the lemon in one hand. The salt is nudged in his direction, and he licks and shakes warily. A chant is building in the background – he hears people shouting 'Tequila Flip!', but his eyes are focussed on Ruby now, as she tilts forward, holds up the glass in front of him, those magnificent breasts pressed onto the bar invitingly.

She gives him a little grin. "Lick."

He tastes salt obediently – her eyes are mesmerising. Then her face is suddenly close, and the crowd cheers as, in a smooth, practised motion, she grips the edge of the counter nearest him, and her legs curl up, _backwards_, over her head, her waist hairpinning as her bare feet come to rest on the bar near her shoulders.

It's inhuman, impossible – she's leaned forward on her chest, the biceps in her arms tight as she holds the counter, and her legs are curved back in ways that normal people's legs aren't supposed to. Her toenails are berry-coloured, Bobby notes dazedly.

She lifts a hand and strokes a finger along his chin, then raises the shotglass to grip it between the toes of one foot, tapping his lip with a nail to encourage his mouth to open further – and as the chanting and whistling of the crowd reaches an hysterical crescendo, she tips the alcohol down his throat.

"Lemon?"

Bobby takes the proffered slice, too stunned to do anything but suck. There's a round of uproarious applause. Darien gives him a congratulatory pat on the back.

The show's over – the crowd begins to settle. Ruby scissors her legs back over and down, then gives Hobbes a wink, before pulling Darien in for another quick kiss.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Noon. Give the number to Paula."

Then she's gone, taking the tequila bottle with her.

So it looks like it's all set. Darien scribbles the info on a napkin and passes it to the bargirl, then steers Hobbes towards the exit, watching bemusedly as his partner gapes and blushes in the aftermath. They're on the steps before Bobby finally regains his power of speech. He's still got tequila on his chin - he glares up at Darien accusingly.

"And you couldn't have told me she was a contortionist _before_?"

****

oOo

Claire is getting weary. The offices are ostensibly closed – her late-work excuse was accepted without comment, and now it's seven o'clock, and a Chinese woman called Ruby is doing backbends in the middle of her lab.

Limbering up, apparently. Ruby widens her stance, extends her arms up and over her head, then curves back slowly until her palms meet the ground. Then she pulls herself back up to standing. Then does it all again. It's like watching a cat stretching.

Claire observes out of the corner of her eye as she arranges two trays, and thinks wistfully that she should never have given up yoga. The whole display is getting on her nerves, and she's about to say something, like 'would you please stop jiggling about for a moment?', when the doors whoosh and Hobbes strolls in.

He's dressed completely in black – not his usual colour, but it suits him. There's a chance that he may be wearing cologne.

He clears his throat. "Hey, Keep. Uh, Ruby, if you're done here, and don't mind me asking, how much do you weigh?"

Ruby straightens and smiles at what, under other circumstances, might seem an unusual question.

"About ninety- five pounds."

"Okay – great. So, we got the strings in the van, now it's just the matter of…" He glances up at Claire expectantly.

She nods. "I'm ready. Bobby, could you tell Darien that I'll need him in about, oh, fifteen minutes?"

"Gotcha."

The two women watch him go, then before Ruby has a chance to start backbending again, Claire pats the uninviting-looking exam chair.

"Why don't you have a seat. This will only take a minute."

With a shrug, the contortionist saunters over and settles in, nonchalance masking a slight nervousness. Claire can't help but smile: Darien always makes the chair look like an undersized lounge recliner – half of him always seems to be flopping over the edge – but Ruby is dwarfed in it's uncomfortable contours, looking even more petite than she is already.

"So – you said ninety-five pounds?" Claire's voice is smooth, reassuringly professional.

"Yes."

"And you're what, about five foot four? Five five?"

"Five five."

Claire takes a note, then explains. "I know that Darien told you that I would give you an insulin implant tonight, but before I can do that I need to run some tests. So right now I'm just going to take some blood samples, alright?"

She catches Ruby's shrug as she preps the syringe.

"Sure. Insurance, right?"

"Pardon?"

"Insurance. You do the job, and then you get paid. It's okay – standard, I understand."

Claire narrows her eyes, thinking that a thief's world must be very calculating. 

"Actually, I don't think you do. I'd put the implant in you now, but I have no idea how it would affect you – I mean, I don't know anything about your medical work-up, your history of diabetes, anything. So that's a complication that I'm hoping to remedy with these blood tests. Plus, if the job you're doing in the morning involves any of the acrobatics I just saw you demonstrate, then surgery now could be painful for you. You'd likely pull a stitch."

Or two. Or three.

Ruby blinks. "Oh."

"So…you're okay with these blood tests then?"

Considering. "Alright. Whatever."

Claire wonders if this is unusual for the woman, having the 'client' worry about her welfare. Then she shrugs off the thought – Ruby seems quite capable of looking after herself. It's just an odd situation, is all.

"Then I need your arm, please."

The contortionist rolls up a sleeve obligingly, watches the swab, then turns her head away for the needle.

"So. You're the doctor who made Darien…the way he is?"

Claire's concentrating on being gentle – the question takes her by surprise. But it's not strange for a patient to distract themselves by talking.

"Uh, no. That wasn't me. But I monitor his condition."

"His 'condition'? Is that what you call it?"

"Yes." Even, measured, like the flow of blood into the tube.

"Like a disease…it's not a disease, thought, is it."

"No, it's not." Slipping another tube in smoothly, Claire's lips quirk up. "He's not contagious, if that's what you're thinking."

"No, I wasn't thinking that. It's just…bizarre. Science fiction."

Claire smiles softly. "Yes, I suppose it is. I've kind of gotten used to it now. But it is strange, the first time you see it."

"No kidding. I think my jaw dropped, when he showed me." Ruby snorts, then her face becomes contemplative. "Still – it comes in handy, I guess."

"I guess it does."

Claire's eyes are on the exchange of the tubes, so she doesn't see Ruby's jaw harden.

"And what will happen, when Darien has outlived his usefulness?"

The Keeper looks up. "Sorry?"

"Well, he's not going to be your science project forever, is he? What happens then? I mean, he's handy in the short-term, but does he end up as the Invisible Old Man? Or do you get rid of him, get a younger model, erase the evidence of the first trials…"

Claire's gaping in astonishment. "What? No! No, it's not like that –"

Ruby shrugs. "Just asking – hey, I watch sci-fi movies too, you know."

"It's not like that." Claire's vehemence surprises her. "I'm Darien's doctor, I'm responsible for his welfare – and while I'm still around, _nobody_ will be erasing _anyone_." There's a slight clatter as she drops the syringe barrel back onto the tray in punctuation.

"Sure." Ruby's expression has mellowed – she's nodding, assessing. "I get it."

"What, exactly, do you 'get'?"

"You're his doctor, sure. It's good that he has somebody looking out for him, under the circumstances. He's a sweet guy. And you know, I think he likes you too."

"Pardon?" The circuitous logic is evading Claire's brain for a second, but by the time she realises the implications enough to blush, Darien is walking through the door.

"Hey, Keep – miss me?"

"What?"

"Well, Bobby said fifteen mintues, but if you're not done I can –"

Claire flaps a hand. "Ah, no, sorry…" She glances at the woman in the chair. "Ruby, we're finished. I'll do the samples tonight and you can get that implant tomorrow morning, or whenever we can get you back here."

"Uh, Claire?" Darien waves. "If you can do it at my place, then we don't have to bring her back. Is that possible?"

"Ah, yes – yes, that's probably better. I can bring some instruments with me tomorrow."

"Great." Ruby slips from the chair, looking relieved to be out of it, and collects her bag before turning to Darien. "So, hey, Bobby's driving me home, I'm going to try and get some sleep. I'll see you about five?"

"Bit after. We're picking up Claire on the way through."

"Okay. Then I'll see you bright and early." She winks towards the Keeper. "Thanks, doc." Then walks.

Claire's left blinking. Oblivious to her mental gymnastics, Darien hoys himself into his usual seat. His volunteered vein is a welcome distraction.

"Ah, no actually. I need to place the implant first, and check the effect. So I think you'll have to take off your jacket."

He shrugs and obliges, as she pulls the tray closer. Crooks up an eyebrow at his signature grotty white t-shirt and jeans.

"Not wearing black?"

"Nah – we won't go in for hours yet. Hobbes is just dressed to impress. He's coming back to my place to rig up the strings and stuff. Go over the schematics again, catch a few zees. I got a comfortable couch."

"Strings?"

"The wires – ropes and things. For the entry."

"I see."

She's organising instruments and contemplating the procedure. The counteragent is usually administered intravenously, but in this case she's decided it might be better intra-muscular. But as it seems that he'll be stretching around almost as much as Ruby, the problem is where to put it. As close to the gland as possible is good

"Darien, I think the best option in this case is to put the implant in the back of your neck. So if that t-shirt is a favourite, you might want to take it off. Saves washing out the bloodstains."

"Uh, sure." A little nervous now, he pulls the shirt over his head.

Claire moves herself and the instruments around to the other side, for convenience sake, and to get a better look she prods him into sitting. Darien watches as she places a blue surgical drape over his bare shoulder, then she's behind him and he can only feel her fingers on the nape of his neck, warm breath as she peers closer.

"That tickles."

"Sorry." She smooths away the short hairs at his nape, diverted for a moment by the softness, then focusses her mind back on the issue. Pulls on gloves, lifts a needle. "Look, I'm giving you a local now to numb the area. Tell me when you can't feel my fingers."

She swabs and injects, and then pokes firmly.

"Not yet. No. No – wait. Did you touch me then?"

Right – all set. She lifts the scalpel. "Hold still."

The first cut goes through skin, then separates the striated muscles. Claire works carefully, using gauze to soak up the blood, slipping the blade between tendrils of flesh, making a little space. When she's happy with the incision, she inserts the thin tube of the implant into place, then it's a simple process of stitching. Tiny stitches for the muscles, thicker gauge for the skin. She pulls the gloves off after she's taped a bandage over the area.

Darien's had his head hanging down the whole time. He pales a little at the sight of the bloody gauze and gloves, whispers softly.

"You done?"

"Yup. All finished."

"That was quick."

"I'm getting better at it. Darien, the local will wear off in about half an hour. There'll be some discomfort, like before – I'll give you some Tylenol for the pain, and some anaesthetic gel and a clean bandage. You should try and change the dressing before you leave in the morning."

He nods, but it feels weird, so he stops, and slips his shirt back on cautiously.

"Let me see your tattoo."

Darien reveals the oubros on his wrist – it's all green, unchanged.

"Good. That's good. Now you've effectively got two doses of counteragent prepped for release. But I want you to keep checking your tattoo through the night – I'm still unsure how the extra counteragent in your system will affect you."

"You worried that I'm gonna go fruit-loopy?"

Claire frowns. "I don't think so. But…I'm just worried. This is all still -"

"Experimental. Right."

She drops the drape over the stained instruments. "And you're hanging your whole plan on it. Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

Darien regards her. "I'm sure that you've done enough work on this to make it a good idea. I trust you."

That's what she's worried about.

"Anyway, hey, it's too late now. It's all in the pipeline." He eases into his jacket, gives her a smile. "Relax, Claire – it'll be fine. It'll work just the way it did before, in the trials. So, you gonna be ready at five?"

She nods. "Sure. I have to work on Ruby's samples now, but I'll be all set for when you arrive."

"Excellent." Darien heads for the door. "So we'll see you out front of your place. Five o'clock." He turns at the open entrance to give her a grin. "And Claire?"

"Yes?"

"Wear black."

****

oOo

__

How does he make this look so easy?

Hobbes' muscles are straining, he's sweating, but then Darien's hand is there to pull him over the edge of the roof. His partner puts a finger to his lips – quiet. Bobby tries to settle his gasping breaths, sits on the gritty concrete surface of the museum roof for a second, then stands to help Darien assist Ruby up to the top. She's not puffing half as much, but hey, she does this for a living.

Watching Darien scale the pipes and crevices on the side of the building, unassisted by ropes, was pretty mind-boggling. Bobby knew the kid had talent, but not like this. He'd looked over at Ruby - she'd just shrugged. And by then Darien had set up the strings, and it was their turn to climb.

Now they're creeping over to the skylight. There's no dialogue. Hobbes suggested com-mikes, but Darien mooted the idea, preferring to keep to the standard arrangement of nods, nudges, and tugs on the rope. Simpler, and cuts the chit-chat. So now, although the three of them are working in concert, they're each occupying their own individual mental world.

Darien fixes the second set of strings to a thick piece of metal piping near the skylight, then Bobby gets ready, tugging up the thick gloves he's wearing, sitting down, feet bracing against the edge of the skylight, slipping the ropes around him, behind his back. Praying that he's still got enough strength in his arms to hold everything steady.

The skylight is easy – slim-jim the latch, then up she goes. Ruby and Darien clip themselves onto the ropes, one each, looping through the waist harnesses, then the thieving pair ease themselves over the edge.

There's a moment of flaring panic as their combined weight hits Bobby square in the biceps. Shit. Steady. Wait – no, it's okay. He's not holding everything – the piping behind him creaks a little – but he's responsible for keeping the descent smooth. The rope inches through his fists carefully. He's grateful for the gloves.

He checked his watch before the descent – right on schedule. So now he's got about eight minutes to get Ruby in and out, and let Darien down to floor level, and get the hell out of Dodge, before the roof security comes round for the sweep. And while he's happy he's not the one dangling like a worm on a hook above the yawning chasm of the museum's antechamber, he's still kinda sorry that he's going to miss out on Ruby's performance when she gets to the control panel.

The rope slides down.

It's Darien who gets to view the performance. And pretty damn impressive it is too. Ruby has been holding onto him during the drop, but when they hit twenty feet she casts around for the panel. It's there, not too close, but not too far away – maybe eight, ten feet, a hollow in the wall where a grey blinking box sits waiting for her. With a nod at Darien, she tugs her rope firmly – stop, hold.

Now they're in mid-air, and she's judging distance and timing. She takes a deep breath, then pushes off, using Darien's body as a counter-weight, swings over the gap silently, smoothly, a slim spidery fairy in a black bodysuit, sans wings.

The swing takes her to within centimetres of the hollow – quickly, she dips forward with her legs and hands, and grabs on. A toehold in each corner, fingers gripping the upper edge – Darien watches with a caught breath as he sees her try to balance, try to hang on…then she's got it. Okay. Done. Now for the tricky part.

Ruby's wanted to work in the circus since she was a little girl, and this is the closest she ever got. She's rehearsed this move in her mind, and even practised it, without the ropes, but with the harness it's actually easier than she expected. She tilts forward, relying on her handholds totally, and lets her legs lift up into the air. She could be flying – it almost makes her grin, but it's not the time or the place.

With the rope her only security, she shifts her hands to hug the sides of the panel. She can see the throw behind it – a thick red button set into the wall of the duct. She's got maybe a foot and a half of space in front of the panel to manouver, but that's all she needs anyway. Careful not to touch the face of the blinking box, she settles her palms down before it into a handstand position, then drops her elbows – now she's on her front-weight, she's got her hands free, and her legs are ready.

Keeping her head up, looking at the control, she inhales slowly and lets her body move with the out-breath, feet curling up and back first, then her knees, then her thighs. All in one straight line, over the top of the control box, she's curved around now like a fish-hook, the length of her legs straining for the button, going by feel alone, and memory.

Her breathing starts to get panty, from the effort of maintaining control. Her arms are beginning to sting, the muscles bunching under the bodysuit in ways that would make Bobby Hobbes go weak at the knees. Just a little further, a little…further - goddammit, where the hell is that throw…

There. She feels the contoured plastic under her bare toe. And now it's just coordinated movements. She lifts a hand in readiness, although her elbows are bruising, and then checks the numbers. Okay. Set. She hopes this is going to work.

Press the throw – berry-coloured toenails make a compliment to the red button. Key the numbers – jab, jab, jab, jab, jab, and one…more…can't quite reach it…jab. There. Uncurl – gently, slowly, easy does it. Then she handsprings back up to standing, balancing again on the ledge. And turns to Darien with a quick grin.

He smiles broadly. But he only has a minute and a half, so his congratulations are brief. Save the back-slapping for later. He tugs his own rope, then nearly gasps as he's suddenly dropped five feet. Jesus, Hobbes…

But it's actually constructive – the adrenalin rush ignites the quicksilver, and the next time he blinks, he's seeing the world in grey. The rest of the descent is a blur of monochrome shadows, then his feet are touching the glassy floor.

Darien unhooks and looks up quickly – Ruby's being hauled up, half-climbing to assist, and he can see Hobbes helping her over the edge of the skylight. Then his partner's face peers down, and he gives a thumbs up. Kinda stupid – he can't see Fawkes, just assumes he's there, and Darien can't return the gesture, so it's sort of a waste of time, but at least Darien knows that they're up and out on schedule.

Then it's Darien's show. And it's so easy, my god, if only his whole thieving career had gone this smoothly he might never have gotten caught, never ended up in Kevin's lab, never been implanted with a gland that makes him go crazy, never been in this situation where he can contemplate how simple it is to just walk into a secure facility when you're invisible…

He abandons the whole chicken/egg-infinity theory thing, and lets himself revel in the effortlessness that his entry involves: slip past the guard at the door to the display room, who's muttering into his walkie-talkie in a mild panic. Darien guesses that it's the Mandarin version of a typical guard's conversation that would probably go – holy shit, guys, we just lost all the lasers in here…what, it's not showing up as a security breach on the control?…then what the hell's going on, 'cos if this is a screw-up them it's my ass on the line…oh, it's gonna go up again? in twenty seconds? okay, I can live with that…nah, there's nobody in here, just me and what's-his-name on the other door – can't you see the video feed?…okay, thanks a bunch guys.

Darien feels kinda sorry for the guy. It probably really _will_ be his ass on the line when the necklace goes missing in, oh, an hour and a half's time. But Darien's more concerned now about making sure he's in position for when the laser beams come back on line – one little laser sure can ruin your entire day. Or, as Claire might say, it's all fun and games until someone puts an eye out.

He moves on silent feet to the display stand, wondering for a second why the two security guards are wearing their standard-issue black aviator shades in the dim light of the exhibit room. Go figure. Then he's safe behind the laser colums, his back to the display stand, with about two feet to wriggle around in. Cool.

There's a momentary hum, and an ozoney smell, and suddenly the array blossoms into life. Yeouch. Scary. The beams hum through the air around him, blue-toned to his heightened senses, and suddenly two feet doesn't seem like a heck of a lot of space – if he extended his hand a little, he could slice off the tip of his finger, and get the wound nicely cauterized in the process. Thanks - pass. 

Now all he has to do is hang on for the duration. He checks the guards, shrugs, then carefully sits down, resting his back against the stand, keeping his knees hiked up against his chest. Yawns. Wishes he'd brought a book to read.

Something makes him look up. If he cranes his neck a little – mind the bandage – he can see droplets of green stone shimmering in a beautiful cascade just above his head. There it is, the glittering prize. The Jade Waterfall. Damn. It's almost too nice to steal. 

Oh well. Darien sighs softly, and eases his head back against the stand. Now comes the tricky part. Waiting.

****

oOo

The part that Claire hates the most is the waiting. It's not exclusive to this situation – she's like that when she's holding out for experiment results too – but her patience levels have been sorely tested over the last few hours. And now it's eight o'clock, and the only thing keeping her in the front seat of the van is Hobbes' insistence that it's still too early.

"Come on, Keep. He's fine."

"We won't know that until he walks out."

"Fawkes can take care of himself. Hey, you shoulda seen him climb that wall – man, it was amazing…"

"There's a difference between climbing a wall and dealing with the effects of quicksilver overuse, you should know that Robert."

"Sure." He's mollifying – she must really be ticked-off if she's using his full name. "But give him a little more time. Just ten more minutes – we've waited this long already, and you're here, so nothing's gonna go south too much. Let him do his thing. Ten minutes, okay?"

Claire sighs and acquieses. She glances into the rear of the van, where Ruby is curled up on a blanket. There's a flash of jealousy, but Ruby's work is done, and Claire's is only about to begin… She wishes she'd been able to sleep before she got picked up three hours ago, but she just couldn't manage it. Too much anxiety, and excitement, and concern, all rolled into one insomniac package.

Counting down on her watch. At eight minutes past, she pulls off her trainers, and slips on a pair of heeled dress pumps, to go with her black trousers and navy (closest she could get) blouse, zips out of her black sweatjacket, slicks on a lipstick smooch from the make-up case in her bag, and opens the door of the van.

Bobby rolls his eyes. "Okay, okay – sheesh…"

"Well, I've still got to get in, pay entry and all that. Mingle. That'll take up a few minutes."

"Sure. Fine. Look, we'll meet you guys out front at sixteen after – right in front of the steps. Just watch for the –"

"- gushing exhaust, yes, I know." She grins tightly. "See you then."

And she heads for the museum. Her heels catch a bit in the lawn, but apart from that there's no problems, up the steps, fumble out change for the entry-fee, smile, nod, another happy tourist…

She checks her watch as she wanders with seeming aimlessness towards the display room – thirteen past the hour. Any minute now. There's plenty of people around for cover. She peruses the displays as she saunters through, and now there's the antechamber. Walk in casually. Her eyes automatically flick upwards, to the skylight, but it's closed of course, there's no evidence of the break-in she knows occurred only a few hours before. She marvels for a moment at the height of the chamber ceiling, imagines what it must have been like for Darien and Ruby, dangling high above on ropes…

She's been briefed on the way to run this, and now she begins the little part of her routine – checks her watch, fourteen past and counting. Walks back out of the antechamber, stands besides the displays nearest the door, checks her watch again, smooths her hair, looks around, obviously she's waiting for someone – an acquaintance she's promised to meet, a gentleman perhaps, who'll walk in at any moment, and wave from across the room, and smile, and say…

"Walk out. Now."

Claire hears the disembodied whisper about a second before she feels the cold, leaden hand on her shoulder. She starts, but masks it well. Sighs theatrically, then starts walking towards the entrance through which she came. Smiles absently at nobody in particular as she whispers back.

"Are you alright?"

The answer comes when she feels Darien's weight shift, to lean more heavily on her shoulder. There's a soft sound of panting breath near her ear. She quickens her footsteps, fighting the urge to reach up and steady empty air.

Moving through the room before the entrance, careful to seem casual, and not lop-sided, although she's half-supporting Darien, and then her eyes smart as she exits into the bright sunlight.

Down the steps quickly, free to be a little more careless now, hiking up her arm to help bear his weight, then bundling them both into the open side-door of Golda idling at the kerb, and she's hoping that she's got all of Darien inside before she closes the door, and it's just in time, because there it goes, the alarm siren, pealing through the museum, urgent jarring electronic beeps.

"You okay?" Hobbes looks over his shoulder, the engine backfires as he slides the van away from the curb.

But Claire is too busy to reply. She's hunkered over nothing, her hand resting on a spot in mid-air.

"Darien? Darien, come out – I can't tell what's wrong if I can't see you."

There's a groan, but no Darien. Ruby is huddled behind the passenger seat, watching in confusion.

"Darien –"

Claire gives the spot a shake, then there's a soft explosion of silver, the flakes tinkling away. Ruby gasps gently. Darien's lying on his side, wan and trembling.

"What is it?" Claire grabs for her bag with one hand. "Come on, Darien, tell me."

"Cold…" His teeth are chattering, lips blue. "It's cold."

"Here."

The blanket Ruby was using is on the right; Claire gathers it up and throws it around him. Then she's pulling out instruments, sweeping her hair out of the way, pushing him back as he tries to sit up.

"No – just lie still for a second."

There's a zip at the back of the long-sleeved, high-collared lycra shirt he's wearing – black, of course – so she slides it down as far as his shoulder blades and slips the stethoscope pad in. She notices the bandage – bloody. He's pulled a stitch.

"Deep breath. Again. One more."

Then the electronic thermometer goes in his ear. He winces.

"Darien, your respiratory function is okay, but your heart-rate is elevated."

"Yeah, well I _did_ just rob a museum."

"I'm only telling you."

The thermometer beeps. She checks it and frowns.

"Give me your hand."

The tattoo under his wristwatch is reading only three segments red. Which is good. Darien watches her neutral expression warily.

"It worked, didn't it. The implant – it worked."

Claire chooses not to reply to the question. "Look at me."

She takes his face in her hands, lifts his eyelids with a thumb. Darien hisses and flinches away.

"What's happening back there?" Bobby is sweating in the front seat. "Am I driving to the lab or what?"

Claire frowns at her charge. "Your eyes are bloodshot."

Bobby nearly swerves. "He's goin' red-eye?"

"No. It's not that." Claire reassures Hobbes before looking at Darien again. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm still freezing. My eyes hurt. I feel like I need about a week's sleep." He shrugs around his abating shakes. "But apart from that – okay."

Claire hazards a small grin before bottling it again in a clinical frown.

"Well, you have a slight case of hypothermia – your extremities are blue. So I'm guessing that your body starts to chill, or your metabolism decreases, or both, with such extended quicksilver use. You probably _do_ need a week's sleep – how unusual, for you. And your eyes…what sort of laser system were they using in there?"

"CW semi-conductors."

"And how far away were you?"

"About two feet."

Claire nods. "Well I wish you'd told me. That's why your eyes hurt. You need to wear goggles to avoid retina damage when using lasers – what, didn't you know that?" She calls out to the driver's seat. "Bobby, we're going to Darien's apartment. And throw me your sunglasses."

"Check."

Ruby passes them through, and Claire slips them over Darien's eyes with a wry grin.

"There – that should help. I'll check your eyes more thoroughly when we get to your place."

Darien nods wearily and leans back against the wall of the van, glasses at a jaunty tilt. Claire can finally relax. She sits back against the opposite wall, breathing out in relief – her pumps are annoying her, so she slips them off.

"So…that's it?"

"That's it."

"And the implant worked?"

Claire nods cautiously. "It seems that way – but I'll have to check out the body-temperature situation in the lab before I can approve your trying it for that length of time again." She's not sure if there'll be an 'again' – there's still the issue of his tolerance levels.

Ruby, who's been watching everything with interest, suddenly mentions the obvious.

"Hey – did you get it?"

Darien grins, looking rakish with the sunglasses, and digs in his trouser pocket. Pulls out a handful of tinkling, trickling jade.

"Hey partner, good job." Bobby's been checking the rear-view. He seems as relieved as Claire.

"No problemo."

"Congratulations." Claire gives Darien a smile and a nod. He shrugs modestly, returns the necklace to his pocket, and begins chafing his fingers on the blanket.

"Still cold?"

"Yeah. My eyes are burning, but the rest of me feels like I stuck it in the deep freeze. My toes are completely numb."

"Here then."

Careless of the implications, because it's a medical situation after all, she pulls off his shoes. And Darien's in heaven for the rest of the drive, eyes closed, blanket snugly smothering him – and Claire massaging his toes back to warmth.

****

oOo

Face gentle in repose – unlined, soft, lips open. Claire waits until the sound of quiet snores emerge before pulling up the blankets, smoothing Darien's hair briefly with light fingers, and then tip-toeing out of the room. She almost bumps into Bobby as she emerges.

"He doin' okay?"

"He's fine." She shuts the bedroom door carefully. "I removed the implant. He'll probably be needing eyedrops for the rest of the week, but apart from that he just needs to get some sleep. Oh, and he gave me this for you."

She holds up a hand – green stones shimmer between her fingers. Bobby's eyes light up.

"Ah, yeah – thanks, this'll come in handy when we see the boss." He slips the necklace into a pocket, and crooks a thumb towards the living room. "Ruby's waiting for you. She said something about an insulin implant…"

Claire nods. "Right. I've got the equipment in my bag." She gives Bobby a quick grin. "You don't want to assist? You could come and hold her hand, if you like…"

"Yeah, yeah…" He waves her off, too macho to blush. "You just do your thing, I'll drive her home when you're finished. Gotta do something first."

Claire shrugs, and heads for the living room, taking her medical bag with her. Bobby waits until her back is turned before pulling a jeweller's loup out of his pocket, and drawing out the necklace. His voice is soft – he's talking to the glittering jade.

"Hey there, gorgeous - I hear you been keepin' secrets…."

And he wanders towards the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, when he emerges back out into the living room, Claire's folding a blue cloth over a red-stained scalpel, and a few other nasties, and Ruby's easing back into the arms of her bodysuit. He catches a flash of black and violet lace – very nice – before turning his back politely.

"Ah, hey – how you guys doin' over there?"

"We're done, Bobby. And you can turn around now."

Ruby's getting zipped up as he swings around and comes over. Claire is issuing instructions, and holding out a small white business card.

"You need to change the dressing this evening. Just bathe it in warm water, and put on some of the gel if it's really bothering you. And this is my number – my private mobile. If there's something wrong, feel free to call. Otherwise, you shouldn't need to see me, and you'll be injection-free, for a year."

Ruby nods and grins. "Wow. This is almost as good as a get-out-jail-free card. Thank you."

"Don't thank me – thank Darien."

"Maybe tomorrow, if he's awake by then. But right now –" She yawns delicately, and then looks over at Hobbes. "You okay to drive?"

He extends his hands graciously. "Golda's at your service. You want me to go rev her up?"

"Please." As he heads for the door, Ruby collects her bag and then turns to clasp Claire's hand warmly. "Thank you – I mean it."

The Keeper smiles. "It was my pleasure. Take care of yourself."

"You too." Ruby grins. "And look out for that science project of yours – he's a wild one."

"Tell me about it." Claire returns the smile, then waves the woman out the door. Then she's able to sigh in weary relief, and wander towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. Thank god for Earl Grey.

****

oOo

Darien wakes up with a woolly mouth, the slightly seedy sensation that sleeping in your clothes creates, and the unpleasant feeling that he's supposed to be somewhere. The light behind the curtains is making sparkling rectangles on the floor. He gropes for his sunglasses, and then the alarm clock.

11.37.

A.M.

Ah crap.

He winces his way through the abbreviated shower-change clothes-gulp coffee routine, then dons the shades again for the drive to the office.

By unlucky chance, Eberts snags him in the hallway.

"You're required at a meeting."

"Yep, sure thing, just –"

"Now – if it's not too much trouble."

"Sure. Just, uh, give me a second."

When Eberts ducks into the office, Darien turns and bolts.

The Keep looks empty when he rushes in; he casts around, confused.

"Uh – Claire?"

Her head bobs up from behind the lizard tanks, followed by the rest of her. She looks quite refreshed – the benefits of a good night's sleep.

"Oh, Darien. Hi."

"Hey. Look, is –"

"Are you feeling better?" She wanders over – the cup of chewy-looking mouse pieces in her hand is putting him off his lunch.

"Uh, yeah, pretty much – thanks."

"What about your eyes?"

"Sore. But bearable. Hey, look, is Hobbes around?"

Claire frowns. "No. Actually, I haven't seen him. Why?"

"Well, there's the little matter of giving the boss the goodies. And I just had Eberts try to shake me down in the hallway, so if Hobbes doesn't get his ass in here soon –"

There's a trilling interruption – her cellphone. Claire holds up a finger for a pause before answering.

"Hello? Well hello – Darien was just wondering… Yes, yes, he is…Certainly – hold on."

With a lift of the eyebrows, she hands over the phone, whispers in passing. "Speak of the devil…"

Darien just grimaces and takes the phone. "Hey partner – I thought _I_ was the one supposed to be invisible…"

Hobbes' voice is tinny over the line. "Sure, real funny. Where are you?"

"Where do you think I am – I'm where _you_ need to be. Like now. The Fish wants us in his office yesterday."

"Can you stall him?"

"Can I…Hobbes, where the hell are you?"

"My place. But there's a problem."

"Well shelve it – just get your pants on, grab the necklace, and get down here."

"That's the problem."

Darien blinks at Claire, who's been observing the one-sided exchange curiously. 

"You wanna run that by me again, partner?"

"Look, just do me a favour. Stall the Fish, and meet me at Ruby's place in twenty minutes."

Darien groans and rubs his temples. He's got an inkling of where this is going.

"Ah, geez…okay, Hobbes, twenty minutes."

"Great. See ya then."

The connection clicks off. Darien hands the phone back to Claire and turns for the exit.

"Wait –" Claire's face is a maze of confusion. "Where are you going? I need to check your –"

"Later. Really. Just…help me out, okay? If the boss asks, you haven't seen me."

"Darien –"

But suddenly he's not there anymore, just an echo near the open door.

"You didn't see me, okay?"

Claire throws up her hands.

****

oOo

Golda is already parked near the warehouse. Darien slides his Ford in behind, and swears for the umpteenth time as his eyes catch the glare off the van's bumper. But Hobbes is easy to spot – he's leaning against Golda's hood, peering up at the warehouse and the unlit 'Woo-Hoo's' sign. In the daylight the place looks dead, and the whole area has a distinctly crummy feel. Darien sighs and lopes over. Neither of them waste time with pleasantries.

"So. This is the problem."

"This is The Problem."

Darien checks out the warehouse – the locked-up windows on the upper floors of Ruby's living area, the wooden sign at the top of the basement stairs that reads 'Temporarily Closed".

"Looks deserted."

Hobbes nods. "It is. I went up the fire-escape. She's cleared out."

Darien takes it in with a sigh. "So…how did she get it off you?"

Hobbes just shrugs and kicks at the loose gravel. Darien stares at him. Notices that Hobbes is wearing the same clothes as the day before, like they were grabbed up in a rush, off the floor where they… Darien's lips curl up.

"Bobby, you sly dog…"

Hobbes just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah…"

But Darien's already chortling, looking at him in surprise. "Well – at least it was a fair exchange…but geez, man, that's the oldest trick in the book. I can't believe you fell for that…"

"Yeah, well – she was pretty persuasive, what can I say."

"I'll bet."

Darien's still grinning. Hobbes is looking sheepish.

"Well, we just pulled off the job, and I didn't think –"

"What? That she'd steal from you? Come on, Bobby – I mean, she's a friend, and I trust her professionally, but she's a career thief, for cryin' out loud…"

"Okay, okay. Sheesh. Give it a rest already."

"Oh no, partner – you're gonna be hearing about this one for a little while longer, I think."

Bobby sighs. "Great. Whatever. Let's just get back to the office, okay?"

He goes for the driver's side – Darien grabs his elbow.

"Wait a minute, Don Juan. We can't go back without the merchandise."

"Nah, it's okay."

"What do you mean it's okay? You don't have the necklace –"

"Nope. But I do have this." Bobby pulls out his wallet and opens it to the photo insert. Under the plastic, right over the picture of Robert Hobbes, Federal agent extraordinnaire, is a tiny black silicon square.

Darien does a double-take. "Is that –"

"Yup. The recorder." Hobbes winks at him. "Nifty, huh?"

Daien's frowning. "So…why the drive-by here?"

"Ah, y'know – jut checking. Kind hoped Ruby'd have second thoughts."

"Huh. So we can still give the boss _something_."

"Yeah. Lucky I use my head."

There's a rude joke in there somewhere, but Darien doesn't milk it. He's grimacing, thinking about something else.

"Well, I guess I'm in trouble if Ruby decides to tell anyone about the invisibility gig."

Hobbes demurs quickly. "Nah, she won't do that."

"How do you figure?"

"She said so. She, uh, wrote me a note."

"She did? What'd it say?"

"Geez, Fawkes, I'm not gonna _tell_ you – just…that you don't have to worry. She ain't gonna crow"

"But how can you –"

"Look, forget it. Let's just get outta here, go see the Fish."

Darien shrugs. "Okay." He pushes up his sunglasses and heads for the Ford. Decides to give it a try, in passing.

"So you sure I can't –"

"_No_, you _can't_ read it. Just get in your car, and meet me at the office."

Darien's grinning at Hobbes' discomfiture as he slips behind the wheel.

And in the front seat of the van, Bobby fingers the folded paper square in his pocket.

__

Bobby –

Sorry about this, but I've got bills to pay too, you know?

Tell Darien not to worry – his secret's safe with me. I mean, who'd believe me anyway?

Maybe we'll catch up in a year or so – break out the tequila or something. But I want you to know – it wasn't just about the necklace.

Love, Ruby

Hobbes smiles as he puts the van in gear. Thinks about black and violet lace. Darien was right – all things considered, it was a fair exchange.

__

Finis


End file.
